Title: Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (10/?)
Author: Alleyprowler (asbprime yahoo.com)
Pairings: (in order for this chapter) 2xH, 1xR, 45, 3x4
Rating: R for language and violence
Chapter Ten, in which Duo's toaster is possessed by Satan, Trowa grows a spine, Quatre does his best Gundam-pilot-in-the-headlights imitation, and we meet an honest lawyer. Uh, why are you looking at me like that?
If there was one good thing to come out of the Yates fiasco, Duo thought, it was that the L2 colonies were probably cleaner and more environmentally stable than they had been since their inception.
Public outcry over Yates' crimes had prompted a lot of very quick changes in the laws concerning the use and storage of hazardous materials, which meant, among other things, that every salvage and reclaim company in the LaGrange point was now being vetted on a regular basis.
This should not have been a problem Sweepers III. Both Duo and Hilde had lived in the Colonies for most of their lives and were well aware of how fragile the balance of life was in such tiny, closed ecosystems. They were also very well-versed in the rules and regulations of their trade and had never once failed an inspection--they had even been cited as one of the more responsible parties. Yet when they got a notice that they were due for one by the second week of March, Hilde had inexplicably begun to panic.
There was nothing Duo or the others could do to calm her down; she insisted on personally inspecting everything in the scrapyard from the biohazard containment vessels to the toilets, and she couldn't just check them once, but over and over again in an obsessive-compulsive manner that worried Duo.
When the morning of the inspection finally came around, Duo had to half-drag his exhausted wife out of bed and into the kitchen for some nourishment before the whole circus began. "We'll ace it, babe, we always do," he assured her as he settled her into her favorite chair by the window.
"I know that," she mumbled sleepily, "but I keep reading the reports and seeing who's had their business licenses suspended and...Duo, I've actually been having nightmares over this."
Duo threw a sympathetic look at her as he spooned coffee grounds into the brewer. Hilde, his brave-hearted Hilde, had one major fear: Failure. She couldn't stand the thought of it, and when she said she had nightmares, he didn't doubt that they were every bit as frightening as his own. "Hilde, when the dust settles, I'm gonna throw you into the nearest luxury shuttle and take you someplace where they have sandy beaches and serve foofy cocktails with little umbrellas in them and don't allow nightmares."
Sleepy blue eyes smiled up at him. "That sounds great, but right now I'd settle for a really strong cup of coffee...and where the hell did my palmtop go?"
That was another part of Hilde and Duo's morning ritual. Hilde had about two dozen gossipy friends who were constantly e-mailing her with what they called 'news', and she usually spent breakfast time hunched over her sleek little palmtop going through her messages and replying to the more urgent ones--although Duo had yet to figure out how she classified them. He preferred more respectable news sources himself. If it didn't come off the wire it wasn't news, it was merely rumor.
Duo took a quick look around the kitchen. "Uh, Hil, it's in its recharger where it usually is," he said, pointing to the wall socket where she plugged it in for the night.
"Oh, right," Hilde said with an embarrassed laugh, and got up to retrieve it.
Duo rummaged around in the refrigerator for milk and bread and jam and set about making toast. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was a little nervous about the inspection as well. It was a baseless fear, he knew, but he couldn't help but pick up on some of Hilde's anxiety. She'd just been so damn jumpy lately! He'd be so glad when this morning was over and they could go back to whatever passed for normal.
"Oh shit," Hilde said.
Duo suppressed a sigh. "What is it now?"
"Shit. Shit!" Hilde pounded her fist on the tabletop.
There was a worried-sounding bark, and then Duo heard Hunter's nails clicking on the linoleum floor. The big mutt trotted to his mistress and set his head on her knee, peering up at her with his soulful eyes. Damn, she was even making the dog nervous!
"Hilde, use real words. 'Shit' doesn't convey it very well."
"That rotten little no-good lowdown slimeball!"
Duo blinked. "Who are you talking about, babe?"
"Well, how many rotten lowdown slimeballs do we know?" she demanded furiously.
Duo saw the fire in her eyes and felt his heartrate suddenly double. For such a petite thing, Hilde was scary when she was mad. "Why don't you just take it from the top, babe?"
"Blue!" She thrust her palmtop at him. "Look at this shit!"
Just then, the toaster popped and Duo snatched the hot toast out of the air before it could bounce off the ceiling and go ricocheting all over the kitchen. He was going to have to fix that one of these days. "What about him? He's in one of the Preventers' detention lockups, right?"
"Wrong! He's in a nice, cushy hospital wing being evaluated by a team of psychologists who seem to think that he's not fit to stand trial." She punched a button on her palmtop viciously.
"He's not? Why? And who's saying this, anyway?" The last he'd heard, Blue wasn't scheduled for a hearing till next week. He'd heard it from Wufei, who had heard it from his partner, who had heard it from Une herself. Granted, that made it a rumor by Duo's standards, but at least it was a good, solid rumor.
"My friend Cammie works as a nurse in the hospital he's in. She said that he was brought in last night in screaming hysterics and they've barely been able to get a coherent word out of him since, and they're thinking about transferring him to a long-term care facility. Apparently he freaked out during a routine cell inspection, attacked two guards and then--get this--he went on to try to drown himself in a toilet."
"What?" Duo accomplished what the toaster hadn't and dropped the toast on the floor. It landed butter-side down.
"Cammie says he won't let anyone male near him. Whenever a man comes into his room, he tries to attack them and then makes some lame suicidal gesture afterwards. That rotten little sneak! He's doing that on purpose."
Duo said nothing. He was thinking back. Although it had been just over a month ago, he remembered Blue's tearstained, begging face vividly. He remembered the way all the color had drained out of his face once he had heard his recorded voice on Wufei's laptop and realized he was in trouble. He remembered the way Blue had instantly transformed from a cocky teenager to a cringing wreck once he caught sight of the Preventers uniforms Wufei and Quatre had been wearing.
"Cammie says the little creep is just right as rain as long as he's only around women," Hilde went on. "She says he freaks out if he sees the damn janitor. Oh my God, if he's trying to fake his way out of jail, he'd better come up with a more convincing act than that."
Duo remembered the way they had stood in the warehouse, the three ex-pilots forming a human cage around the boy. He remembered the way Wufei had reacted quicker than lightning, punching Blue in the nose when he seemed to make a threatening gesture toward Quatre. The way Wufei had seemed to loom over the boy, maintaining an icy, authoritative kind of silence throughout the questioning. Blue hadn't been faking his panic then.
"Oh, and here's the kicker. He wets the bed." Hilde snorted. "Even for him, that's laying it on a little thick, don't you think?"
He remembered Quatre's voice, eerily calm, detailing what the worst-case scenario might be and explaining to Blue exactly what a 'prison wife' was, although without using those words. Blue had wet himself then.
"She says that the kid can't even stand being with his own lawyer because he's a man. He's rejecting his own legal representation!"
Worst of all, Duo remembered the murderous rage that had overcome him and how dangerously close he had been to killing Blue on the spot. Too close.
Close enough that he had actually frightened himself.
"Duo, are you listening? Are you okay?"
He shook himself a little and poured two mugs of coffee. "Yeah, I was just thinking."
"About what? Thank you," Hilde accepted her mug and inhaled the steam with a sigh of appreciation.
He didn't really want to tell her. She was exhausted, under pressure, and emotional and she was in no condition to hear the truth. But he had long ago vowed that he would never keep anything from her. No matter how revolting or shameful, he had always shared everything with her, and so far she had been tough enough, forgiving enough, and loving enough to accept everything. He'd planned on going over all the details of Blue and Yates's capture with her later, after things had calmed down. Later. There was always later.
He took a sip of his own coffee. "It's nothing, babe."
"It's obviously something. You were spacing out."
He flashed her a grin. "I was just fantasizing about taking you on vacation, that's all. You, the sun, the sand, a skimpy bikini..." He sketched a shapely hourglass figure in the air with his hands.
She set her coffee mug down on the table with a bang. A scowl line had appeared between her eyebrows. "Don't lie to me, Duo Maxell. You've never done it before and you're not about to start now."
Hunter let out a whine and started to lick Hilde's hand. Obviously, he wasn't even fooling the dog, let alone his wife. He dropped the fake grin with a sigh. "I was just thinking...maybe Blue isn't bluffing after all."
Hilde looked at him as if he had just said something bizarre about fruitbats. "What are you talking about?"
Duo picked up the ruined toast and tossed it into the sink. He suddenly couldn't meet her eyes. "Me and Wufei and Quatre weren't exactly, well, subtle when we caught up to Blue." He snorted. "Man, that's an understatement."
She looked confused. "What do you mean?"
Duo put two more slices of bread into the toaster. "You know Wufei's been suspended, don't you?"
"Yes, you told me that. You said it was because he'd given Quatre a firearm. You also said it was a stupid reason to suspend him. What are you getting at?"
"Well, that wasn't the only thing we did."
She frowned at him. "What do you mean? Did you beat him up?"
"No, not exactly. Wufei popped him pretty hard on the nose, but that was an accident."
"Good for Wufei," she said coldly.
"And Quatre and I...well, I went a little nuts and pulled a knife on him. I didn't hurt him, but I could have. And then Quatre had a little heart-to-heart with him about prison life and scared the piss out of him, literally."
"Well what were you supposed to do, take him out for breakfast and ask him politely for a confession over coffee and doughnuts?"
As if it took the comment on doughnuts as an insult, the toaster ejected its load with more violence than usual. Duo batted the toast out of the air and stared at it for a while before he picked up his butter knife again. "Hilde, you don't understand..."
"No, I don't," she snapped. "I don't understand how you could possibly feel sorry for him. He spent three months under our roof, gaining our trust just so he could use it against us later."
"I'm not saying that what he did wasn't awful, I'm just saying that maybe he's not faking. We did our best to terrorize him, and you know how persuasive Quatre can be--"
"Quatre was nearly killed! By all rights he should have ripped Blue's arm off and beaten him to death with it!"
Duo felt sick. Hilde wasn't listening to him and he didn't have the strength to fight her, not over this. "Hilde, don't say things like that."
"What do you expect me to say? How can you stand there and make excuses for the guy who tried to ruin us?"
"With all due respect, babe, you weren't there."
"No, and it's a damn good thing I wasn't, or else I'd be the one in prison facing murder charges right now! He's a greedy, lying, cowardly thief who's trying to buck the system, and if he gets away with it..." she made a frustrated growling noise deep in her throat. "I can't stand it anymore. I need to go for a walk. Hunter, leash!"
The dog barked once, as if saying, "Yes, ma'am!" and rushed to the cupboard where his leash was kept.
Although Duo thought that a walk was a grand idea, he didn't think that the neighbors would appreciate the state she was in. "Hilde..."
She held up her hand, palm-out. "Stop. I don't want to argue anymore."
"Yeah, but..."
"No." She snapped Hunter's leash onto his collar and let him pull her toward the kitchen door.
"Hilde, listen!"
"I'm not in the mood to listen, Duo! I need a walk, and I need it now!"
"I know, but..."
SLAM!
Duo stared at the closed door with a sigh. "You could at least put some clothes on."
It was the first truly warm day of spring, and Heero knew exactly where he would find his wife. He'd known it from the moment he'd woken up alone in their bed and seen the sunlight streaming through the mullioned windows, which had been opened to let the mild breeze drift in.
Bypassing the breakfast buffet, Heero took a cup of coffee from the sideboard and let himself out of the south door, following a crushed-gravel path through the grass to Relena's garden.
Sure enough, there she was, just coming out of the greenhouse with a flat full of herb seedlings. She had on her broad-brimmed straw sunhat, a pair of Heero's old jeans, rolled up at the ankles, and one of his old white dress shirts underneath a yellow cardigan that she wouldn't be needing much longer now that the sun was really starting to pull itself together. He lifted his coffee mug to her in greeting. "Don't mind me, I just came out for a little fresh air," he called.
"As long as you don't volunteer to weed again," she said with a laugh, and walked off toward one of the raised beds she'd been preparing for weeks in anticipation of the proper arrival of spring.
Heero settled himself down in a wooden glider set along the path and smiled into his mug. The last time he'd tried to help her garden, it had turned out to be at the expense of most of her basil crop and several rows of peas; the actual weeds themselves had been carefully spared. Relena had laughed till she cried, but the experience had taught Heero that it was much more pleasant to sit and watch than to actually participate.
The garden was Relena's pride and joy, and it showed. Even this early in the season it showed promises of the lush abundance that would peak in June and stay through November, before finally dying back to its winter sleep. Relena was in her element here, carefully nurturing and cherishing each tiny life. He watched as she set down her flat and then sat back on her heels in front of the raised bed, which was full of rich black soil that she had composted herself. She pulled on her leather gloves, but before she took up her trowel and began her planting, she suddenly swept off her hat and raised her face to the sun, soaking in its rays for a moment before she began to work.
Heero loved the way she looked in the sunlight. Her hair was golden, her skin was golden, and the light seemed to love her as it enveloped her in a warm glow. Even when she put her hat back on to shade her eyes, the sunlight didn't so much reflect off the straw as dance across it, sending beams into his own eyes. He merely blinked them away and watched her as she gently settled her seedlings into the earth. It was almost ritualistic, the way she did it. Her posture was humble, and with her eyes cast down on the ground and her movements so precise and repetitive, she looked like a woman at prayer.
He was focused on her that it took him a few minutes to register a presence behind him, but when he did, he came alert in a flash. He braced his feet on the ground and glanced over his shoulder to see who it was while attempting to keep the creaky glider still, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Trowa. He raised a hand in greeting, and Trowa nodded back.
Heero had to admit he was a little surprised to see him outside. Ever since he had arrived, Trowa had kept to himself for the most part. He only came out to socialize during mealtimes, which even Heero could tell was only for the sake of politeness. Other times he kept to his suite of rooms, or sat out on the balcony on the north side of the house.
It seemed to Heero that Trowa had changed a little over the past few days. He still only came out to take meals with them, but he seemed to be more open and relaxed. He acted like a man who has had a great weight lifted from him mind, and while Heero was somewhat curious about the change, he hadn't considered questioning it. If Trowa wanted to talk about it, he would.
Heero slid to one side of the glider. "Have a seat."
"No, thanks," Trowa said. He had something square and white in his hand and he kept tapping it against his leg nervously. "This is an impressive garden. Did Relena do all this herself?"
"Most of it. She talked me into planting some of the saplings, but the rest of it is all hers."
"It must be a lot of work."
"I think it helps her focus."
"I see." Trowa gave the white thing in his hand one last tap and sighed. "I guess I shouldn't disturb her, then. I'll come back later."
"Is it something I can help you with?"
"Probably. I just needed some directions, but I'd rather ask Relena."
Heero raised his eyebrows. "May I ask why?"
"I think it'll make her happy."
Interesting. Heero had no idea how being asked for directions could make someone happy, but he intended to find out. "Relena!" he called.
"Oh, you don't have to..." Trowa said. He sounded somewhat uncomfortable. But Relena was already on her feet and coming their way.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Trowa has something to ask you," Heero said, turning toward Trowa, who was by now looking very uncomfortable.
"Yes?" she said when it seemed like Trowa wasn't going to say anything after all.
"I was just wondering if you could tell me how to get to the post office," he said, seeming to speak more to his shoes than to her.
"It's not far down the main road. You take a left two blocks past the school--it's on Eagle Rock road, I believe. But you can just leave your letter with Marie if you like, she goes down to the post office every afternoon."
"I'd rather do it myself," he said, and held up the white thing in his hand, which was indeed a letter.
Relena's reaction startled them. First her eyes went wide as if in shock, then her entire face lit up with a look of delight and she stood up on her toes to throw her arms around Trowa's neck, being careful not to touch him with her muddy gloves. "Oh, Trowa, that's wonderful! I'm so glad you decided to send it."
He let out an embarrassed chuckle and hugged her back. "It took me a few days, but yes, I think it's for the best."
She stepped back, and Heero could see her eyes shining. He still didn't understand what was going on, but it was clearly a good thing if it made Relena this happy. Trowa looked happy too, if a little nervous. He gave Relena one last squeeze before heading off toward the front gates. Heero watched him till he was out of sight. "That letter's important, I assume," he said.
She gave him the mysterious sort of smile that only women seemed to be able to pull off--a smile that meant 'I know something you don't know and you'll just have to figure it out on your own'. "It's not just a letter, Heero. It's an olive branch," she said, and walked away to tend to her seedlings.
Wufei's feet pounded on the pavement in a steady beat, one heartbeat and to each breath and two footfalls to each inhalation. His muscles were warm and loose; all traces of tension and sleepiness were gone. He was alert, focused. He ran, and the synchronization of his body's rhythms usually would have soothed him and induced a state close to meditation, but his mind refused to stay at rest.
It might have had something to do with the subtle differences between the colony and the earth. The spin-induced gravity of the colony was just a bit lighter than that of earth, and the atmospheric pressure was slightly greater. The air that he was pulling into his lungs was drier than he was used to and had been scrubbed clean by the filtering system, rendering it sterile and tasteless. Those things were not noticeable under normal circumstances, but Wufei became acutely aware of his body and how it was functioning when he was exercising, and the little differences were making him feel off-balance.
He pushed himself harder, hoping that a faster pace would help him get rid of the feeling; if not, at least it would cut his run a bit shorter. He passed darkened shops, abandoned schools and empty parks on his way?it was far too early for the general population to be up and about, especially on a Saturday morning, and that's the way Wufei preferred it. Delivery vehicles passed him with a quiet electric hum, but aside from his pounding feet and steady breathing, the only sounds he heard were from the birds, who were just beginning their own morning warm-ups.
He was relieved when he jogged back into Quatre's parklike neighborhood. The run had not refreshed him as it usually did, and he wanted to take a shower, change his clothes, and pretend to start his day all over again. Perhaps he could drag Quatre out later.
He opened the front door with difficulty--the basket that went under the letter slot had come loose and the morning mail had spilled onto the floor, including a thick trade magazine that had wedged itself between the bottom of the door and the threshold. Wufei tugged it out and took it and the rest of the stack to the kitchen, which was filled with the scent of strong Jamaican coffee.
Quatre stood near the sink with a ceramic mug in his hands, blinking sleepily out the window at nothing in particular. "Morning, Wufei," he mumbled.
"Morning. Here's the mail." Wufei tossed it down on the draining board.
"There should be a law against getting bills on a Saturday," Quatre said, looking at the pile of envelopes with a disapproving eye.
"Agreed." Wufei armed sweat from his forehead and glanced at the coffeepot. It was already half-empty, and he knew that if he didn't act soon, he'd have to make himself a new pot if he wanted any. Then he got a whiff of his armpits and decided that a shower was a higher priority than caffeine right now. "I'm going to get cleaned up. I'd ask you to save me some coffee, but that would be a waste of breath."
Quatre's nose twitched. "I'll make you a new pot. You reek."
Wufei smirked and deliberately put his hands behind his head, twisting his body from side to side for maximum effect. "On second thought..."
"Out! Out!" Quatre shouted, shoving him in the direction of the nearest bathroom.
Chuckling, Wufei went to take his shower.
Twenty minutes later, Wufei stood in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, towelling himself off and marveling over how a little soap and water could make him feel like a new man. The uneasiness he'd felt earlier had been washed away and he felt energized--perhaps he could talk Quatre into doing something a little more exciting than visiting the Colony's tourist traps today.
He pulled on some jeans and a red knit pullover and then exited the bathroom in a puff of steam. "You'd better have that coffee ready, Winner," he called out toward the kitchen, but there was no answer. Shrugging, he padded down the short corridor to the kitchen and made a beeline to the coffee pot, which was still half-full. Wufei snorted. "Are you already half finished with a second pot? Honestly, Quatre, don't you have any sense? You're going to give yourself an ulcer before you're thirty!"
Quatre, still standing in front of the sink exactly where Wufei had left him, didn't say anything. He had his coffee mug in his left hand, and a small sheaf of papers in his right, and he seemed completely transfixed by the latter. Wufei found a mug and poured himself a dose of what Duo used to call 'liquid humanity'.
"That must be one hell of a bill if it's taking up that much of your attention," he said, nodding at the papers in Quatre's hand.
"Not a bill," Quatre said in a strange, faraway voice.
"Not a...Quatre, are you all right?" Suddenly concerned, Wufei took Quatre by the shoulders and spun him around till they were face to face. Quatre face was slack and ashen, and his eyes appeared to be focused on something on the next colony. He looked like a dead man who had somehow managed to remain standing. "Quatre!" Wufei shook him.
Quatre blinked, and his eyes came back into focus. "It's not a bill," he said in a clearer voice. "It's a letter."
"Who is it from?" Wufei asked, although he already knew the answer. Not many people were able to rattle Quatre like that.
"Trowa."
With an absolute lack of surprise, Wufei reached out toward the papers. "May I?"
"Yeah, I think you'd better," Quatre said. He stuffed the stationery into Wufei's hand and wandered off to find a place to sit.
Wufei skimmed the letter quickly. Even though he had Quatre's permission to read it, he felt like he was snooping into something private...and he supposed he was. This letter certainly hadn't been intended to be read by anyone but Quatre, he quickly realized, and he seated himself at the breakfast table.
So this was Trowa's naked soul, was it? Wufei was surprised by the language and the sentiments expressed in it; Trowa didn't like to talk about his personal feelings much, even to his closest friends, and Wufei was a bit surprised--not to mention slightly embarrassed--by the passion he put into his words. Still, it could have been worse. At least he had only mentioned their sex life in passing.
He read the closing lines once more, then set the pages down on the table between them. "Well. That was enlightening."
"What should I do?" Quatre asked in a hollow voice.
Wufei wanted nothing more than to go back in time about half an hour, intercept the stupid letter, and feed it into the trash compactor. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. "What do you want to do?"
Quatre shook his head slowly. "Kick him. Kiss him. Ask him to come back. Tell him I never want to see him again."
"Mixed feelings?"
Quatre crossed his arms on the table and lay his head down on them. He looked utterly exhausted. "I guess I've been doing a good job of living in denial these last ten days. Ever since you came to stay with me, it's been easy to shove him into the back of my mind and pretend I'm not lonely and hurt as hell...I honestly don't know how to feel, or what to think, or what to do about it."
Wufei didn't know either. He'd had relationships in the past, but they had all broken off cleanly and without regret from either party. Some had ended in tears and others with a handshake, but none of them had been left unresolved like this...perhaps because he didn't think he'd ever really been in love. He supposed it complicated things when your feelings for the other person originated from above the waist.
"You should get dressed," Wufei said after a long and painful pause. He desperately needed something to do and he didn't want to hear Quatre talk, so he headed toward the refrigerator. "I'll make breakfast."
"I'm not hungry," Quatre said.
"I don't care." He made more noise than necessary as he pulled ingredients for an omelet out and set them down on the butcherblock work surface in the center of the kitchen. If he banged pots and pans around loudly enough, he reasoned, then maybe Quatre wouldn't try to talk to him.
It was all for nothing, though. Quatre hauled himself up from the table, moving like a deep sea diver under several tons of water, and made his way to the butcherblock "Can I help with anything?"
Wufei pushed himself deeper into the refrigerator and came out with nothing more than a pitcher of orange juice and a rather sad-looking tomato. "No, I've got it under control," he said shortly. "You go get dressed."
Quatre looked down at himself and brushed futilely at the wrinkles on the front of his t-shirt. "Okay."
Wufei was about to make another foray into the fridge when a sudden inspiration hit him. "Quatre?" he called toward the retreating figure.
"Hm?"
"Wear your workout clothes."
"My..." Quatre blinked. "What for?"
"It's high time you came back to life," Wufei said, and he turned his back.
"After you, ma'am," Milo said as he pushed open the glass-and-brass door. Une stepped into the foyer of the Decatur Park Professional Building and breathed a martyred sigh. In spite of the air conditioning, the place stank of ambition, greed, and new money.
She swept toward the bank of elevators on the left side of the foyer, her heels clicking briskly on the marble floors. Milo trailed after her, dragging his own feet. Honestly, he was acting more like a man being led to the gallows than a man on the way to a mid-morning meeting, but she didn't blame him. She didn't want to be there either.
"What's the firm's name again?" she asked, peering over the tops of her glasses at the billboard-sized directory next to the elevators.
"Livermore, Cogan and McInnes, ma'am. Cyril McInnes is our council."
"I think I've heard of him," she said, looking over the directory. There were over a dozen law firms listed on it, as well as cosmetic surgeons, high-priced dentists, advertising agencies, and more 'consultants' than she cared to count. Bloodsuckers, all of them.
"He has a good reputation. They say he's very sharp."
"I should certainly hope so, with the retainer we pay him." She spied the name she wanted halfway down the third column. Livermore, Cogan and McInnes were located on the twenty-fourth floor. "Well, sooner started, sooner finished," she said, and pressed the button to summon an elevator.
They were quiet on the ride up. Morrison was making a great show of filing through the notes and folders he carried around in an old leather courier bag, even though they had both double-checked that they'd brought everything they needed before they had left her office. She suspected he was nervous. It should have been Chang who accompanied her on this visit since he'd been the field agent at the scene, but since she had suspended him, it hadn't seemed proper to ask him to come along. I obviously didn't think that decision all the way through, she chided herself bitterly.
There was a soft chime and the elevator doors slid open, letting them out into a corridor lined with doors. "Very ritzy," Morrison commented in an undertone.
Une took in the parquet flooring, the ultramodern wall sconces, and the textured paint job with a jaded eye. It was a far cry from the industrial-style décor of the Preventer's headquarters, but she wasn't sure that she liked this much better. "This is where part of our retainer money goes. I hope they enjoy it," she said, and turned to her left.
They were almost at the end of the corridor when she saw the name she was looking for, painted in gold lettering across a pair of thick glass doors. Morrison made a move to open the door for her, but she pushed her way through before he could do much more than place his hand on the polished bar.
"Let me lead from here, Agent," she said under her breath.
"Ma'am." Morrison dropped back.
She approached the reception desk and nodded at the young intern seated behind it. "Good morning. General Director Une here to see Cyril McInnes."
The young man scrutinized her card for a moment, then stood up with a professional smile plastered on his face. "He's expecting you. Follow me, please."
The intern led them to, not an office, but a conference area. It was tastefully furnished with club chairs upholstered in burgundy leather, green-shaded floor lamps, and lush tropical plants in brass containers. He offered them coffee, which they refused, then bustled off to find McInnes.
"This is some place," Morrison said in a low voice that one usually used in a library or a museum.
"Try not to let it impress you."
"If we had only half their decorating budget--"
He was cut off by the arrival of Cyril McInnes. Une judged him to be about fifty years old, with the deep and premature wrinkles of a heavy smoker. His suit was grey, as was his hair, and he looked as if he had never smiled once in his life. "Good morning, Director. Very kind of you to come on such short notice," he said. He had a good courtroom voice, she decided. It was mellow but carrying, authoritative without being pedantic.
"Good morning, Council. May I introduce my colleague, Agent Morrison."
A deep V appeared between McInnes's eyebrows. "Morrison? I thought the agent involved in the case was named Chang."
"Yes, but regrettably, he was unavailable. Agent Morrison is Chang's direct supervisor."
McInnes seemed satisfied with that. He shook Morrison's hand and took a seat in one of the club chairs, setting his briefcase on his lap. He made no move to open it yet. "In light of recent developments, I'm sure you have some questions and concerns you'd like to have addressed."
Direct and to the point, Une thought, mentally adding a point to his score. "Yes, the report we received about Mr. Ervy are a little worrisome," she said. Beside her, Morrison disguised his opinion of bullshit as a cough.
McInnes's lips thinned in what might have been a smile or a touch of indigestion. It was hard to tell with him. "I take it you aren't familiar with Mr. Ervy's legal representative. Or should I say, former representative."
"No. Should I be?"
"Perhaps not. Mr. Kirby's name isn't very well-known outside of the profession, but inside..." McInnes let the sentence trail off as he opened the clasps on his briefcase.
Good sense of drama, Une commented silently, adding another point in his favor. She was handed a single sheet of paper, which seemed to be a brief report on Kirby's track record. In his five years as a criminal lawyer, Kirby had had two clients acquitted, nineteen released due to mistrials, another fifty-seven convicted, and one hundred and seventeen declared 'not guilty by reason of insanity'. "Dear God," she breathed. She looked up and met McInnes's eyes. "Is this true?"
McInnes nodded solemnly. "He does have something of a reputation."
Morrison had taken the paper out of Une's hands as soon as she had released her death grip on it and was scanning it rapidly. "Unbelievable. But still, this isn't going to be a problem, is it? Kirby isn't his representative anymore."
"No, his, er, condition demands that he have a female council. Kirby's recommended one for him. Her name is Ada Milkiss, and I don't have much data on her. This will be her first trial."
"You seem sure it will go to trial, Council," Une said.
"It's a matter of when, not if, Director Une. You see, Kirby is under review right now by the Board of Ethics, so he passed his case on to his scion, so to speak. Ms. Milkiss is his niece."
"Isn't that...questionable?" Morrison asked.
"Yes, Agent, it is, and we intend to question it until we get a satisfactory answer."
Morrison sat back in his chair; all traces of nervousness gone now, he was back to his normal unflappable self. McInnes seemed to have passed whatever test he had set. Une, however, still had one major problem on her mind. "Council, what are the chances that Chang and the two civilians will be called to testify in court?"
"For Ervy's case, close to zero. In my opinion, the young man has already tried and convicted himself. Yates, however..." That deep V appeared between his eyebrows again. "The shooting complicates things. Your report indicates that Mr. Winner was acting in the capacity of a field deputy, which may give him the authority to carry and use a firearm, but current law is cloudy in that area. Also, since he was the victim in this case, questions of vigilantism will arise."
She had been afraid of that. "And what about Mr. Maxwell?"
The V disappeared. "Mr. Maxwell has agreed to give a full report to both myself and whoever ends up representing Yates. He was also a victim, but since he didn't do any actual physical harm to either Yates or Ervy, he's likely to be spared any unwanted attention. If you like, I could appoint one of the junior partners to assist him in preparing his statement."
Une felt a corner of her mouth twitch in an almost-smile. "That won't be necessary, Council. Mr. Maxwell is up to the task, I'm sure. He's honest, but he's also quite...eloquent."
McInnes's eyebrows rose a fraction of a millimeter. "Do you know Mr. Maxwell?"
"We've met." I saved his life once, now I have his lifelong friendship, whether I want it or not. Duo never forgets a favor...or a slight.
"Excuse me," Morrison broke in, "but earlier on you said something about 'whoever ends up representing Yates'. He was a prominent businessman on his colony, surely he must have his own lawyer."
McInnes's lips thinned again, and this time Une was sure it was a smile. "Oh, he did indeed. Three of them, in fact. They've all been dismissed."
"By whom?" Une asked.
"By Yates himself."
"May I ask why?"
"They refused to accept his plea of innocence."
Morrison let out a disbelieving laugh. "I might be a little behind on things, but on the last count, he'd been charged with conspiracy to commit murder, illegal possession of explosives, bribery of public officials, toxic waste dumping, and about half a dozen other irrefutable charges. The evidence is overwhelming! How in the world can he consider himself innocent?"
"You aren't very far behind, Agent. He's had a few more charges tacked onto his list in the last few days, but he considers that a moot point. Mr. Yates is a firm believer of justice through wealth; in other words, he thinks that if he searches long enough, he can find a council--and perhaps a judge--who can be bought."
Une caught Morrison's glance and read the expression on his face in a flash. Is that guy crazy? he was asking her. She gave him the merest of shrugs back. Who knows?
"Agent, Director," McInnes said, "I know it might sound a little strange to you, but Yates is by no means the first person to do this. Many people with more wealth than conscience have tried this trick before, and the best thing to do is to sit back and let themselves dig their own graves. With any luck, he will have incriminated himself so badly that his case may never even go to in front of a jury--he'll be tried by the High Council and your agent and the civilians will never have to testify in person. Their written testimonies will be enough."
For the first time since she'd seen the appointment with McInnes appear on her schedule, Une began to feel guardedly optimistic. "How long will Yates be given to choose a suitable representative?"
"He is already over the deadline by three days. He's been granted an extension, but I sense that patience with him is growing thin. He has another seven days before his case defaults to the discretion of the High Council, and to be frank, he will need a miracle if he's going to find a council to represent him at this stage in the game. No one with any sense will go near it now."
"So, barring a miracle, this means...?"
McInnes's face seemed to do what she had not though possible and broke into a full smile. "Either way, Yates will likely be going to prison for a very, very long time."
TBC